Hot Trail
by Audacia's Quill
Summary: xover YuGiOh/HP and Suda 51's "Shadows of the Damned,". VERY A.U What if, after the war, Harry picked up the legacy of Demon Hunter Garcia Hotspur? So there's a new demon hunter in town, Zorc had better watch his ass. Harry and his Johnson are here to fix their little demon problem. Yaoi/Sex jokes/Shooting/M for a reason, not require Shadows of the Damned knowledge


Hot Trails

YuGiOh/HP/Shadows of the Damned

Future Yaoi, undetermined pairing/lemon. Poor sex jokes, ooc now and then

Yaoi! All the warnings Suda 51 games have applies here. Post-War

Disclaimer: I do not own HP, YGO or SoD

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If Johnson could scowl, he'd probably be scowling pretty hard. For a skull with no flesh, this would be hard to achieve, but Harry figured his assistent was doing a damn good job of trying.

"Garcia would never have me clipped to his waist like some sort of fashion accessory, I can _float _you know, it's a perk of being a disembodied demon skull," bit out Johnson as Harry clipped him to his side.

"It unsettles muggles, I can pass you off as a gothic fashion accessory if you keep your mouth shut, besides, a lot of people would kill to be this close to my crotch," stated Harry dryly.

"I'm sure," grumbled Johnson as he swung slightly at Harry's side when he walked. Walking to the window of his manor, he untied the mail attached to a rather tired owl and began idly throwing away mail after glancing at the names.

"Aren't you even going to open them?" asked Johnson curiously.

"Eh, junk mail, bills, Playwitch offers," - at this, Johnson snorted, a few years ago he could imagine when Garcia would have laughed and Harry would have blushed into the carpet. Sirius Black - from Harry's drunken ramblings, would have been proud. It had been a tenacious ground - getting Harry out of his room. Johnson wished he had hands to slap some sense into the boy sometimes. After Garcia died, Harry had... well, he had sunk into reclusion.

Unlike Paula - Garcia's girlfiend, Garcia had died permanently, Paula had seen to his safe passage and they had both escaped the reach of Fleming the Lord of Demons, and were up in heaven, probably shooting angels. Unlike Garcia, who was a tall, Spanish tattoo-clad, sweaty, angry pile of hot demon-hunting muscle, Harry had always been rather...sensitive. It always surprised Johnson that Garcia ever took on an apprentice - then again, Garcia had been getting - well, old and Harry had made him feel young, like Paula did. After the Great Wizarding War and reign of the Dark Lord Voldemort, Johnson finally understood why Harry was the way he was. He was regaled by tales of a boy who, unloved by his family and resented for his magic was prophesized to defeat a Dark Lord - who for all intents and purposes, sounded worse then Fleming in many ways. He had to give up his childhood, he lost everyone he loved after starting in life as an orphan. Harry had the look of a tired man now, even back when he'd first approached Garcia as a Hitwizard and demanded to be taught.

Ordinarily, Garcia would have said no, but he was intruiged when Harry brandished a thin stick into his hand and turned Johnson into a cabbage when he smart mouthed the wizard for blatently asking Garcia to be trained in demon hunting.

But now, Johnson couldn't think of anyone better to pick up the legacy of the unbreakable huntress and hunter themselves. Harry was fearless in the way that Garcia had been. Years of slaying people instead of demons as a cost of war had made the boy almost impervious to killing. It scared Johnson. He often worried for Harry's humanity. Garcia had always stopped short of killing one his own kind - a mortal, but Harry was far more dangerous then the Hotspurs had ever been, for one simple reason.

"You don't fuck with a man - especially a wizard - who's already lost everything."

Maybe that's why Demon Lord Fleming had a borderline homosexual attraction to Potter, an obsession, an urge to keep him, like a pet. A prize at a demon's table. Urges completely different to that of Voldemort's.

Unbreakable as Paula had been, but because he'd already been broken but with all of the fiery attitude Garcia had which had made him so fun for Fleming to mess with. But unlike his mentor, Harry would always be the one screaming into his pillow in the dead of night, unlike Garcia, Johnson might be able to catch Harry in tears if he is silent enough.

Now Johnson no longer wished for hands to slap sense into Harry and get him out of his mourning, no, now Johnson wished he had arms so that he could hug him.

It had been one of those nights again, and they were joking around with the mail as if Harry's green eyes weren't bloodshot, as if they weren't black bags beneath his eyes, as if Harry hadn't screamed Johnson awake at 3:00AM. Johnson would pretend everything is normal, Harry would ignore firecalls from the Ministry, from the Weasleys, from everybody. He would walk to his coat rack, and put on Garcia's old leather purple-black biker jacket, with it's diagonal zip and back embroidered with symbolism. For the longest of time, it was an ill-fit, too big and revealed too much of his upper chest due to it's dipdown for Harry's liking.

But then Harry had ramped up his Quidditch training on weekends with Oliver Wood, one of few Hogwarts friends he'd kept in contact with. Before he quit his job as a Hitwizard, he'd nearly blasted apart the training course, and whilst he isn't a rippling pile of muscles exactly as Garcia had been, but Johnson had to admit -he was pretty damn close. Today, he'd put on the jacket of famous demon hunter Garcia Fucking Hotspur, but unlike previous days, today - _it fit._

"Letter from Oliver, Harry?" asked Johnson, as Harry had taken one letter from his trash pile and opted to read it.

"No, unidentified sender," he frowned "-bypassed fan mail filter," scowled the former Boy-Who-Lived.

"Careful," warned Johnson "-could be a nice little present from Fleming,"

Harry rolled his eyes and reached for the knife opposite Johnson on his waist, and tore it open with curiosity.

"Que?" mumbled Harry to himself as he read it. Johnson stopped moving, it was one of those moments where Harry slipped into Spanish that Garcia had taught him, since Garcia died, Harry always stopped cold after doing that. It was different though, today he didn't.

_Maybe he's done mourning?_ wondered Johnson to himself, _why are mortals so...complicated?_

"Wake up Johnson, we're going on a road trip," grinned Harry.

Was this all he lived for now? Unlike Garcia, Harry did not get raw joy from demon hunting, he did it because it was a means to an end. He'd donated every sliver of 'Old Money' he'd inherited to rebuilding programs after the war, he needed the work and the underworld was unstable. It was means to an end, but also, he'd started when Voldemort almost formed alliance with Fleming, and after approaching Garcia for the help in taking down the hellmonkey demonic bastards, it kind of... stuck.

"We have a job Johnson," Harry's smile was unnatural, it was scaring him now.

"What? We do?" asked the skull, it'd be Harry's first hunt since Garcia and Paula departed.

"It seems someone knows what Fleming's after and why he's been so quiet lately," explained the wizard, glancing at the long thin scar running from the tip of his middle finger, down his hand and to his wrist. It was where his wand had welded into his flesh after...an accident.

"I knew the quiet was too good to last," groaned Johnson, as Harry began looking for his running jeans, unlike Garcia, you could not get him in leather trousers. Harry - in his own words, did not like the sound his ass made in leather when he ran. Something Johnson had never really paid mind to before.

"Is it not enough that I'm shirtless under this jacket?" twitched Harry, when Johnson commented on it.

"Well you don't have cool tattoos to show off, so I can understand, but from what I hear, mortal ladies love the look," defended Johnson "-just trying to help a mate out,"

Another thing Johnson liked was that Harry was not as hairy as Garcia and could afford to go shirtless without ever worrying Johnson that he'd walk in to see him waxing his 'happy trail'. Shudder. His opinion of Garcia had gone down that day.

"Dragonhide armor makes more sense," grumbled the wizard.

"For spell defense yes, not when hauling arse away from demons, way too heavy, sweaty and impracticle," said the skull matter-o-factly.

"Sounds an awful lot like this jacket," pointed out the wizard.

"Yes but that's why you're shirtless, leather gets sweaty," Johnson would know, Garcia showered a _lot._

"Hm, so where are we going?" asked Johnson, still unaware.

"Japan," said Harry curtly "-some Miss Ishtar is having a little demon trouble,"

Oh yes, thought Johnson, as he observed Harry discard how tired he was in an instant for the safety of others. Sirius Black, that Remus and Harry's parents whom he rarely talked about - yes Johnson could sense, they would be proud of their boy, just as his good friend Garcia would be.


End file.
